


The Eggs of our Labor

by flipfloppandas



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Easter Egg Hunt, Erik Has Feelings, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Sweet T'Challa (Marvel), Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 04:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14180460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipfloppandas/pseuds/flipfloppandas
Summary: T’Challa values tradition to the highest degree, so it’s only natural that when Erik misses Easter, T’Challa sends him on an Easter Egg Hunt.





	The Eggs of our Labor

**Author's Note:**

> So I literally came up with this idea like halfway through the day and worked on it ever since. I promise y’all I’ve never written a story so fast.

If there was one thing T'Challa valued to the highest degree, it was tradition.

Erik had never bothered to understand his obsession (his words, not T'Challa's) and T'Challa never went out of his way to force him. He acknowledged why it would be hard for Erik to wrap his head around Wakanda traditions, and figured the effort he was already putting forth to honor Wakandan ways was more than sufficient.

He had never thought much of Erik's own traditions, though. When asked, Erik claimed he simply did not have any, that America was such a diverse country that it was nearly impossible to name one "American tradition" that everyone partook in.

As it turns out, Erik _did_ have a tradition. T'Challa can admit that he had been a bit underhanded in his methods of coaxing Erik to talk about it, but he was worried about him. He had seemed so... _sad_ for the past several days. It broke T'Challa's heart every time he saw him slump around the palace like a kicked puppy; the way he hardly spoke during council meetings; the sight of his eyes dimming more and more every time he checked the calendar.

T'Challa could not let this go on, and Erik was too stubborn to speak of it on his own, so he took matters into his own hands. T'Challa waited until that night, as they were cooling down from sex, when Erik was sleepy and cuddly and so vulnerable that T'Challa almost felt bad for being so deceptive with his questioning.

Eventually he got Erik to start talking about the holiday called Easter, which apparently, was coming up in just a few short days.

"It was my mom's favorite holiday," he said, stroking T'Challa's hair. "She wasn't too passionate about going to church normally, but we always went on Easter. She'd go out and buy us all fancy outfits, even for my dad, who didn't really understand it but would go cuz he knew it made her happy y'know? Afterwards we'd come back home and I'd open my Easter basket and eat some of the candy and the eggs we colored. And then we would spend the day helping her cook dinner, singing along to all the same gospel songs over and over again. We didn't have a lot of extended family, so it was always just us, but she'd go all out on dinner regardless, and my dad would spend the whole time going on and on about how good her food was..." He took a breath then, and stopped.

"It's your favorite holiday, too, isn't it, N'Jadaka?" T'Challa said, softly.

Erik shrugged. "It was never the same after my dad died but yeah, I guess. All the other kids really liked Christmas, but that was too much of a reminder of what I _didn't_ have, you know?" T'Challa didn't know, but he nodded all the same. "On Easter I felt like we just really focused on what was important. No other bullshit. Just each other."

He said nothing else after that and T'Challa did not press. Instead, he thought of his own idiocy. Of _course_ there were things Erik missed about his home. He went on and on about how much he hated it, but that was still where he was raised and spent most of his life. Now here we was in Wakanda, a country that was just as much his but still so vastly different all the same.

T'Challa remembered when he was studying at Western University, and just how out of his depth he felt. He remembered the Wakandan holidays he missed because he stubbornly refused to return before the allotted vacation days, and just how homesick he was surrounded by glowing, carved pumpkins and colorfully decorated trees whose connotations meant nothing to him.

And that had only been for a few years. Erik intended to stay here _forever_ , forcing himself to leave behind everything he had ever known to adapt to a culture that had never made any effort to teach him up until this point...

It must be a special skill, T'Challa thought, to be able to guilt trip _yourself_.

That next night T'Challa decided to do some research of his own on this particular holiday, in order to properly formulate his plan. It was extremely popular in the Western world, and other predominantly Christian countries, it seemed. It was fascinating to read up on the biblical story of death and resurrection that had shaped the cultures of many parts of the world. How exactly the story morphed to include an over-sized, anthropomorphic rabbit bearing eggs off all things was a bit blurred, but just as intriguing all the same.

Still, just how exactly he would manifest this plan of his was unclear. He figured he shouldn't bother with the religious side of the holiday—aside from his readings, he was completely ignorant, and did not want to risk offending Erik by trying to replicate something of that magnitude. However, he ran another risk with taking the more secular route. Baskets of goodies, coloring eggs, the Easter Bunny—all of these popular elements that defined the modern interpretation of this holiday were geared towards _children_.

T'Challa groaned and rubbed at his face. Erik was too proud of a man. Even if he secretly _would_ like to do all of those things, he would fight T'Challa on the matter until his dying breath. T'Challa refused to let him ruin his own favorite holiday. There _had_ to be another way.

One of the words he came across during his readings popped to his mind and he jumped back to the screen. He included the word 'hunt' in his Easter search and scrolled and scrolled and yes this would be _perfect_ for Erik.

He would need to modify it, naturally. To scatter eggs across a lawn was too elementary and Erik would be able to sniff them all out anyway.

Nevertheless T'Challa had a plan, and if he played his cards right, he could have it all ready tomorrow for Easter.

Erik would never know what hit him.

* * *

T'Challa was up to something.

Erik was not surprised even in the slightest. T'Challa was _always_ up to something, and more likely than not, it was something that Erik would not like.

Okay well, maybe Erik was a little surprised. Only because _normally_ whatever little ploy T'Challa was fussing over grew in intensity over _some_ period of time until Erik either figured it out himself or was smacked right in the face with it. This, on the other hand, had been so _sudden_ . It was just the other day that they had talked about that stupid holiday, and T'Challa had spent the whole night in bed brooding about it. Then he had spent the next day and a half after _avoiding_ Erik, and even had the nerve to feign innocence whenever Erik would question him at night.

Erik should've known better than to tell him his little sob story. T'Challa had a guilty conscience equivalent to that of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar over _every little thing_ . If Erik had known it would bother him _this_ bad, he would've just kept it to himself!

Yet he hadn't, so here he was, walking to the dinner he would spend on his own, rolling his eyes at the bullshit excuses his so-called "family" had given him to explain away their absence.

All that told him was that whatever T'Challa had planned, Shuri and the Queen were privy to it.

He wondered if at least being aware of that put him at an advantage, and decided that no, it did not.

He was so deep in thought that he did not notice the contents of the table until he was standing directly over it. Or rather, the _lack_ of contents—there was nothing there! No plates, no silverware, no sizzling exotic foods he pretended weren't as good as they actually were, no nothing! Nothing except for a dark, wooden basket, with a single egg sitting in the center.

It was actually a very pretty egg, he realized, as he held it up for closer inspection. The base color was a deep purple, with stripes and other shapes patterned around it in orange, blue, and maroon. If eggs had African pride and wore dashikis this would be it. What the fuck.

He was so perplexed by this culturally-shocked egg that he almost missed the note attached by string. He unfolded the paper, and read:

_I know that your pride makes your wants and desires hard to confront._

_So instead, I simply ask that you indulge me, and partake in this Easter Egg hunt._

_The first egg, you see, was hidden where the Jaguar eats._

_The second egg, however, lies beyond the palace and passed the gates,_

_To the place that the Jaguar most hates._

"Dammit, T'Challa..." Erik groaned loudly. How old did T'Challa think he was? Seven? Why did he have to be so extra all the goddamn time?

He did not know, and he made sure to complain very loudly about it, especially so as he grabbed the basket and stormed off with the clue in hand.

* * *

 

Erik hated the market.

Erik hated a lot of places to be honest, like the bathroom in the room he used to sleep in before he started banging T'Challa (three of the four walls were literally just fucking _mirrors_ ), and the field outside of the palace with all those flowers he was allergic to, but this place took the cake.

Erik had not been too fond of crowded places in his old life, but now it was nearly unbearable. The heart-shaped herb made him smell everything around him, hear every voice like it was right in his ear, feel every brush of _every_ grubby stranger on his skin. Worse yet, it was so _hot_ , all these bodies packed together under the blazing sun with not a single fucking tree in sight. And he was supposed to find a tiny egg here?

T'Challa better guard his fucking ass when this is all over, is all Erik's got to say.

" _Here comes Peter Cottontail,_

_Hoppin' down the bunny trail,_

_Hippity, hoppity,_

_Easter's on its way_!"

Erik almost stumbled over himself. He _hated_ that song. His elementary school made them sing the song for all of the parents right before break, and they had practiced by singing it over and over and over and over for _weeks_. He almost pissed his pants once because his teacher refused to let him use the bathroom unless he sang the song for her. Traumatizing.

_He's got jelly beans for Tommy,_

_Colored eggs for sister Sue,_

_There's an orchid for your Mommy_

_And an Easter bonnet, too!_

The song was coming from a group of kids. They were singing as loudly as they possibly could in their broken English, dancing around in a circle with their little hands locked.

And there in the center, was his egg.

"Hey!" Erik shouted at them, stalking over. "If y'all don't quit singing that song, bet I'll knock all y'all little asses into next week!"

They all squealed and giggled, dashing away before he reached them. "Sorry, N'Jadaka! King's orders!"

"Sorry my ass," Erik muttered, stooping to pick up the egg. He narrowed his eyes at the note.

_Forgive me for sending you here, I concur with your disdain for the noise and the heat._

_But now it is time for you to find the place that houses the Jaguar's cheat._

* * *

 

The clue had been a bit difficult to decipher, and when he had figured it out he had rolled his eyes extra hard. T'Challa had been referring to the rhinos that had aided him in the battle that they all awkwardly never talked about. He bet that if the rhinos had been on _T'Challa's_ side, he wouldn't have thought it was cheating, huh?

He was not rolling his eyes now. No, now his eyes were watching that rhino, the both of them staring each other down through the bars of the pen with growing fire in their eyes. Directly between them, rested Erik's egg.

Key word: _Erik's_.

He's quite positive that the egg had not even crossed the rhinos mind in all the time that it sat there. What the hell would a rhino want with such a pretty egg, anyway? No, no, he only wanted it now because _Erik_ wanted it, and there was an unspoken rule that everybody and everything in Wakanda had to piss him off at least once.

Whatever, he wasn't scared of some stupid rhino, he told himself as he charged forward. He was N'Jadaka, Killmonger, son of N'Jobu, recipient of the heart-shaped herb. He was literally fucking the king of the greatest nation in the world, and nothing, rhino or otherwise, would keep him from that _fucking egg_.

* * *

 

_I am confident you conquered your foe, slightly harmed, perhaps bruised, yet thankfully not castrated._

_You will find the fourth egg where the Jaguar was created._

Erik rubbed at the decidedly _not_ slight bruise on his side. T'Challa thought he was so fucking funny.

He trudged towards his younger cousin's lab, wondering just how much longer he had to wait before he could kick T'Challa's ass. When he passed the threshold, he immediately sniffed. It was in here, naturally. The smell was actually very close, and it was coming closer, and it was in his face and—

—and cracking him right in the forehead.

" _Ah_ —what the fuck?!" He shouted over the sound of cackling laughter, cradling the demonized egg in his hand.

"I—I—I," Shuri gasped around her infuriating laugh, "I thought you would _catch_ it! Oh, Bast, I can't breathe!"

He grumbled and turned away from her, wondering idly just how T'Challa would feel if he threw his sister over a waterfall. Probably not pleased.

He inspected the egg—brow twitching at the cracked dent—but found nothing aside from the intricate design.

"Where's the note?" he asked his still giggling cousin.

She wiped a tear from her eye as she pulled the note from her pocket, the page unfolded with the words clearly showing. He was a bit irritated that she had read the note, but honestly he could relate to her nosiness, and figured that T'Challa would not write anything in the note he wouldn't want his sister to read anyway.

Still, he made a point to snatch it from her, and withheld the urge to stick out his tongue when she rolled her eyes.

_If Shuri threw the egg at you, I'm sorry. She claims she likes to keep you on your toes._

_The fifth egg is in the place where the Jaguar rose._

He arched his brow at the note.

Shuri eyed his haggard appearance. "This hunting tradition seems a bit extreme for small children."

"It's not. T'Challa just thinks running me around all over the damn kingdom is gonna make me forget that egg hunts are little kid shit."

She hummed, and regarded him. He hated when she did that, like she was looking right through his bullshit but there was no bullshit to _look_ through.

Finally she looked away, and tossed a towel he hadn't even noticed was there at him. "You'll need this," she said, before turning back to whatever project she was fiddling with now.

* * *

 

Erik would have figured out it was Warrior Falls without Shuri's assistance, anyways, and no, her little flimsy ass towel was no help whatsoever.

This egg was more difficult to find than the others. The water masked it's notable scent, and there were no annoying kids this time to catch his attention. Still, he was quick (the fact that he was completely fucking soaked notwithstanding), and eventually found it, hooked by the thick pebbles surrounding it on the ground. It was a miracle the water hadn't swept the damn thing away.

He lifted it carefully with his fingers, and opened the note. The ink wasn't smeared at all, and he idly wondered if they even made their ink out of fucking vibranium.

_Here is where I truly knew you. Where you taunted. Where we fought. Where I wept._

_The sixth egg, you'll find, is resting where the Jaguar slept._

He stood there for a while, reading the note over and over, his thumb running lightly over the egg's pretty pattern. Finally he scoffed at himself, dropped the egg into the basket, and left.

If he did not acknowledge his eyes straying to edge of the waterfall, then it did not happen.

* * *

 

Erik had only been here once since that day, and at the time, not even T'Challa's presence could keep him here long.

It was hard to be here. It was _still_ hard to be here. It was hard to look at the charred walls, the brittle, empty vines, the lifeless sand pit.

It was so hard that the moment he saw the egg, he took it and left.

_I knew for you to come here would be harder than any test._

_But you did it, and I'm so proud of you for conquering such a request._

_Just know that everything important to you is to me too._

_Now, let's see if you can find the Panther who loves you._

* * *

 

Honestly, he didn't even have to think about where he'd find T'Challa. It was almost anticlimactic, but this was _their_ place, and Erik would not have it any other way.

He saw him the moment the elevator stopped. Sitting far off with his eyes on the sunset. Erik dashed forward, and the moment he was there he tackled him. They both let out an _oof_ as their bodies hit the ground. Erik recovered first, grabbed T'Challa's shoulders, flipped him over and—

" _Pfft_!"

— _laughed_.

"Are you wearing bunny ears?!"

"Hello, N'Jadaka," T'Challa smiled pleasantly, seemingly unfazed by the headband buried in his curls, leading up to the twin fuzzy, white ears.

"Nah, nah, what we ain't gonna do is sit here and act like you ain't wearing big ass Bugs Bunny ears right now."

"Bugs Bunny wasn't quite what I was going for," T'Challa answered as he sat up. "But whatever you say."

Erik fought through his giggling (God he was _giggling_ ). "Why in the _hell_ are you wearing those?"

"It seemed that a rabbit is a part of the Easter tradition. Unfortunately, my suit takes the form of a panther, so I made due."

"Right, Easter," Erik said, hoping the subject change would take his mind off the fact that a grown ass man was wearing _bunny ears_. "The reason behind this shitty hunt you sent me on."

"I thought the idea was quite clever."

"Clever? Not with your writing skills, man. I wrote better poems than you when I was nine."

"Forgive the lack of my usual eloquence," he said, peeved, "but I had been a bit pressed for time."

"And yet you still find time to come up with new ways to piss me off, huh?"

T'Challa rolled his eyes. "It did not piss you off, and that was not the intent in any case."

"Oh yeah? Then what _was_ the intent?"

Now T'Challa looked a bit hesitant, biting his lip in the way that made Erik desperately want to kiss him. Erik arched his brow instead.

T'Challa sighed. "Well, you said that Easter reminded you of what was important. I hoped to accomplish that as well."

Erik blinked, then gaped, then stared. Then:

"You thought me getting bodied by a rhino was important to me?"

T'Challa barked a laugh. "Some would say acknowledging our weaknesses is important, yes."

"Asshole," Erik muttered, just as his stomach growled loudly. He groaned to the sky.

"Maaan, I ain't even get to eat dinner messing around with you. I'm hungry as hell!"

"Well that's good"—T'Challa stood to his feet—"seeing as how the meal should be just about ready now."

Erik arched his brow away. "Should I assume that there is something particularly special about this meal?"

"You should, seeing as how I had the cooks prepare typical Easter foods enjoyed by American families."

Erik perked up. "Like what?"

"Ham. Greens. Deviled eggs. Sweet potatoes—"

"God," Erik groaned. "I love sweet potatoes."

T'Challa gave him a soft smile. "Then I hope we prepared them to your liking."

Erik hopped to his feet, grabbing his basket. "Alright, Peter Rabbit, let's go. We got a long walk and my stomach is already dying."

"I'm unfamiliar with the reference," T'Challa said, grabbing his hand, "and if you are that hungry, you could just eat your eggs on the way."

"Nah man, it would be a tragedy to eat eggs this pretty. You decorate them?"

"No, my mother did. They'll spoil if you don't eat them."

Yeah, yeah I know, just let me look at them a little longer alright?"

"Alright," T'Challa smiled, leading him back to the palace. Erik swung his basket as he walked, wondering idly when it would be his turn, and just which of T'Challa's holidays he would make sure to butcher the hell out of.

_The End._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive my grammar mistakes. I’m tired as fuck. Happy Easter.


End file.
